


The Badger and The Snake On Their Own Team

by hazelandglasz



Category: Good Omens (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Crossover, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mischief, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:21:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21955045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: A Good Omens Holiday Swap dedicated to @kaiisenWhere Prefect Aziraphale has a lot on his hands with one particularly rowdy Hufflepuff, while Head Boy Gabriel and Head Person Belzeebub take bets.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 90
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Swap 2019





	The Badger and The Snake On Their Own Team

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaiisen](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=kaiisen).



* * *

Azirap hale doesn’t often use the infirmary, but he can feel a headache building up.

“Would you care to explain how exactly did you manage to do …  _ that _ ?”

Crowley stands where he is, arms crossed behind his back and still managing to look like he’s posing for “Witches Weekly”.

“I didn’t do a single thing, Prefect,” Crowley replies, pushing back his glasses on top of his nose. 

“No, no, of course not,” Aziraphale says, standing in a huff and walking around the other student. “No, what was I thinking? Of course, you are not responsible for all the plants in the greenhouse suddenly  _ refusing _ to be cut for potions!”

A small smile appears on Crowley’s face. “So  _ that’s  _ the whole hubbub.”

Aziraphale stops to glare at him. Were it anybody else, Crowley would probably crumble under the weight of that look. As it is, he merely raises an eyebrow at Aziraphale.

“Yes, dear, that’s the whole hubbub, as you put it.”

“And tell me,” Crowley says, lowering his voice, “oh great Slytherin prefect, who made it so I could enter the greenhouse and convince the plants to indulge in some rebellion, hm?”

Aziraphale straightens up, arranging his tie. “I don’t have the slightest idea.”

“Thought so.”

“I suppose I don’t have any proof that you did anything wrong.”

“My hands are clean, honest!”

“Don’t push it.”

“No, Sir, Aziraphale, Sir.”

“Get out of here.”

“Astronomy tower, after dinner.”

Aziraphale allows himself a smile. “Where else would I be?”

Crowley beams at him before running out of the Prefect room, yellow and black robes flying in the wind.

Aziraphale shakes his head. Whatever is he going to do with the impossible boy?

“How did it go?”

“Ah!”

Aziraphale nearly falls off his chair in his shock at hearing the Head boy’s voice coming through their joined door.

“Did I scare you?” Gabriel says with a smirk, entering the room. “Were you doing something against the rules?”

“Me? No, no, you know me, Gabriel,” Aziraphale replies, composing himself. “Never a toe over the line, all rules and no foolery, that’s me.”

“Right.”

“Did you, um,” Aziraphale offers Gabriel his most angelic face, “did you want something?”

“Just to see how your side of the investigation on the greenhouse was going,” Gabriel says, looking at his cuticles. “We wouldn’t want the teachers to get involved, would we?”

“Oh, um. No. Certainly not. That would be disastrous indeed.”

“Apocalyptic, even,” the Head Person’s drawl resonates from their office behind Gabriel.

“Ah, Beelzebub, hi. Quite, yes.”

“The other prefects are scouring the school, trying to figure out who enchanted the plants. We hope you do your part, too, Aziraphale.”

“You can count on me. I’m on it. Absolutely tickety boo.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes before returning to his shared Head office.

Aziraphale lets himself drop in his chair with a sigh. So. Much. Pressure.

“Newie?”

A house-elf appears in front of him. “Master Aziraphale, what can Newie do for you today?”

“If it’s not too much to ask so close to dinner,” Aziraphale asks with a smile, “could you bring me a little brioche to nibble on?”

“With a cup of cocoa, Sir?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

“How many times does Newie need to tell you not to thank Newie? It’s insulting.”

“Sorry, sorry. Hard habit to break.”

The elf shakes his head, snapping his fingers. He disappears and then reappears, carrying a golden  [ brioche  ](http://escale-gourmande.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/02/P2150090-copie-1080x778.jpg) and a large mug of cocoa.

“Th--That will be all, Newie. See you later.”

“Yes, Master Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale checks the doors for no more intrusion before settling in his chair, his copy of the “Guide to Advanced Transfiguration” opened on his lap.

Now this is how he was supposed to spend his Saturday afternoon.

~~~~

Crowley doesn’t immediately return to the Hufflepuff common room.

He should, he knows, but he wants to pay someone a little visit first.

“Oh, Hastur,” he singsongs as he enters the Ravenclaw common room.

“Crowley,” the younger boy sneers. “How did you get in here?”

“That riddle was ridiculously easy to solve,” Crowley replies, sprawling himself over an armchair. “You should tell your door to make it a real challenge.”

“In case you forgot, first years need to be able to open it.”

“Like you care about the munchkins.”

“You’re right, I don’t. But the principle stands.”

“Riight. ‘Cause you’re so big on principles.”

“I am. Now, can you tell me why you’re here?”

“To get the fruits of our bet.”

Hastur straightens up, putting his quill aside. “Our--our bet?”

“Yep.”

“You did it?”

“Yep.”

“You found a way to stop the Potion class without touching the cauldrons?”

Crowley takes Hastur’s quill and transfigures it into a lollipop. “Yep.”

“How? Did you,” Hastur leans forward, looking far too excited for what comes out of his mouth next, “did you curse the Potion Master?”

“What? No! I convinced the plants to fight against being cut. No plants, no potion ingredients, no potions.”

“That’s not really dark magic.”

“That wasn’t in the bet.”

Hastur groans before sighing. “Fine, fine, you won. Here you go.” Hastur takes his parchment and snaps his fingers. His homework turns into an order form he immediately fills in. “A year subscription for chocolate frogs?”

Crowley stands, hands in his pockets immediately as he saunters out of the room. “Yep.”

~~~

Dinner is far too slow for Aziraphale’s taste, and that is saying something, since it’s one of his favorite moments in the castle.

But still, slow. Too slow for his taste. Aziraphale has half a mind to use his Time-Turner forward.

“Now that we all enjoyed this feast, an announcement,” the Headmaster says. “Until a different announcement, the greenhouse is absolutely forbidden to all students. Your Herbology teacher is in the midst of negotiating an agreement with the plants to get the proper ingredients needed for the potions classes. Until then, well, Potion and Herbology will be replaced by study hours in each common room. We trust the prefects and older students to help the younger ones.”

Aziraphale groans, because he has no intention of staying in the common room with a bunch of noisy first years, but everybody will expect him to do so because he has the badge on his chest.

But one glance across the table is enough for him to drop his head to his chest: Gabriel’s meaningful glare leaves no room for loopholes and arrangements.

A small note slithers up to him.

“ _ Don’t worry, angel, you can hang out with me for those periods. A.C. _ ”

Aziraphale folds the note in his hand and looks across the table to the Hufflepuff one, where Crowley doesn’t look in his direction. Still, Aziraphale knows that Crowley knows, because he tilts his glass in the Slytherin table’s direction as if toasting something.

The time they will get to hang out, experience on spells and take advantage of the kitchen proximity, for starters.

Aziraphale smiles to himself, lifting his own glass.

He can’t be sure, of course, given the sunglasses on Crowley’s nose and the distance, but he’s certain that Crowley smiles back.

~~~

The Astronomy Tower is many things: ancient, perfectly organized for observing the night skies, high (oh so high) but most nights, it’s not a place of learning; it’s Hogwarts Smooch Spot central.

Which is absolutely not why Crowley and Aziraphale meet there every other night.

Absolutely not.

(Too cold for either of them to stand sitting on the stony ground. Nope. They like their comfort, thank you very much.)

No, they choose to meet at the top of the tower because of the one subject they both love above all else.

Astronomy.

Crowley likes to watch the moves of stars, bringing in Muggle observations of Space to get one more dimension of studies.

Aziraphale likes to look at their patterns, not really caring about the scientific sides of it but loving to bring Mythology and Magic History into it, because astronomy does spell the past from which astrology extracts the future.

So they spend far too long in a corner of the Tower--the one most exposed to the Scottish winds, because of its relative state of abandon--, looking at the stars and drawing their own conclusion.

At first, they would bring thermos of hot cocoa or tea, but ever since the end of their sixth year, the two boys may have decided to spike their drinks.

For example, tonight, Aziraphale brought a blend of chamomille tea and firewhisky. 

What can he say, he likes to experiment.

When Crowley successfully registered as an animagus, they celebrated with a bottle of wine.

Long story short, not much observation was done that particular night, though Aziraphale is sure that they discovered a new constellation.

It may have been shaped like Crowley’s animagus form, but hasn’t everyone heard of a snake-shaped constellation?

Unbeknownst to them, their astronomy nights have attracted some people’s attention.

Namely, the two head students.

See, Gabriel and Beelzebub started coming to the Astronomy tower long before they were nominated Head Boy and Head Person.

And not to look at the stars.

But ever since Aziraphale and Crowley have started coming up on the Tower after dinner, the two older students find themselves very interested in observing them.

Just as Aziraphale and Crowley always bring drinks with them to keep warm during their observations, Gabriel and Beelzebub always bring snacks to munch on while studying them.

It’s not just innocent observation really. Ever since they started their little spying, Gabriel and Beelzebub have taken a bet.

How long will it take either of these morons to realize that the bond between them goes far beyond friendship and act upon that realization.

Which one will have the first epiphany about their own feelings.

Or about the way the other feels.

(Of course, their bet is rigged from the start and they don’t even know it; both Crowley and Aziraphale already know how they feel.

They’re, however, fairly oblivious to the way the other feels; that much is worthy of a bet for certain.)

“They’re drunk,” Beelzebub chuckles, their mouth full of pumpkin pasties.

“Are  _ you  _ drunk?”

“Maybe.” Beelzebub shrugs. “It’s cold, and the alcohol keeps me warm.”

“I could keep you warm.”

“You could, and yet you don’t. What are you thinking, Gabe?”

Gabriel sighs, taking his scarf off and wrapping it around Beelzebub. Their size difference makes the scarf really big on the Gryffindor, but Gabriel thinks they look adorable in green and silver.

He says so, and earns himself a mighty punch to the arm.

“Ouch.”

“I am not adorable,” Beelzebub hisses.

“No, of course not, sorry.” Gabriel pulls them against him. “You’re my enemy,” he says, pressing a kiss to their lips, “and I hate you.”

“Better,” Beelzebub mutters before wrapping their arms around his neck to pull him into a deeper kiss.

On the other side of the Tower, Aziraphale and Crowley share a look of awkward disgust at seeing the older students in such an embrace.

“Eugh.”

“You owe me fifteen sickles.”

“And you owe me my sanity back.”

“Call it even?”

“Deal.”

~~~

After two weeks, the plants do agree to let the Herbology teacher and few, selected students to cut what is needed for the potion classes, in exchange of a stroll in the natural sunlight every other day and a nourishment of Bordeaux and cognac.

Who knew magical plants had an alcoholic tendency?

“Crowley, not now.”

Crowley snaps his mouth shut, privately gloating about the fact the  _ he  _ knew that the plants in the greenhouse wanted to be fed something else than rainwater, that it was his whole theory since Third year--well, his conclusion after talking with them rather than a theory, but it’s not like he’s going to divulge this particular ability to anyone, is he now.

“Apocalypse averted, then,” Aziraphale tells him during one of their strolls around the lake, one of the plants happily sitting in a wheelbarrow they are moving forward with their wands.

“For now,” Crowley replies with a smile. “Until the next one.”

“Please, dear boy, don’t be the reason for that next one.”

“Me? I would never, angel.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes at the nickname, his free hand reaching up to pet his nearly white curls.

The very reason for that nickname, back when they met at King’s Cross.

~~Seven years ago~~

“I hope I did the right thing,” Aziraphale mutters to himself after managing to turn a piece of paper into an apple for the starving girl at the station. 

“Where is your train ticket?”

A soft voice pulls him from his thoughts. The boy must have his age, dressed in unmarked robes. His eyes are a remarkable amber shade, close to gold.

“Uh?”

“Your train ticket,” he repeats, lifting up his own ticket.

Aziraphale goes to take it from his pocket and that’s when he realizes that the piece of paper he used was, in fact, his train ticket.

“I gave it away.”

“You whaaat?”

“I gave it away!” he cries out. “I didn’t mean to but she needed it and--oh dear Merlin, what am I going to do?”

The boy looks at him with a small smile before tapping his own ticket with his wand. The ticket splits into two tickets, one of which he holds up for Aziraphale.

“I’m Crowley.”

“Oh. Um. Thank you. I’m Aziraphale.”

“Are you an angel?”

“Sorry, what?”

Crowley points at his hair. With the light coming down from the enchanted ceiling, Aziraphale golden curls do look whiter than usual.

“Oh. No. No, I’m not a, an angel. Just … me.”

Crowley’s smile widens. “You still look like an angel to me.”

~~Back to the present~~

“You’re never going to let that nickname die, are you?”

“Why would I?” Crowley says, bumping into Aziraphale. “You still look like an angel to me.”

“Even though I’m a Slytherin?”

Crowley snorts. “You try to act like you’re holier than thou, but the Magic Hat saw though that, Angel. You’re just enough of an ambitious bastard to belong in that house.”

“And what does that say about you, uh? Trying to act all blasé and edgy, but you are a Hufflepuff. Deep down, that means that you’re n--”

“Don’t use that four letter word, please.”

“Okay.” Aziraphale holds his hands up in surrender. “But still. At heart, you  _ are _ just a little bit of a good person.”

Crowley opens his mouth and shuts it. “I suppose.”

“I wouldn’t have you be any other way, you know?”

Crowley glances at Aziraphale. There is a faint blush covering his cheeks, and his smile is … shy? Could it be?

“No?” he teases, trying to cover the way his heart is accelerating in his chest. “You wouldn’t want me to be, I dunno, stronger? A Slytherin? Less of a troublemaker, perhaps?”

Aziraphale laughs at that. “Now, that would be a great relief, yes,” he replies. “But I think that would be too much to ask.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Besides, it’s not  _ exactly _ troublemaking,” Aziraphale continues. “You’re simply … questioning the way things have been done for centuries, and it all snowballs from there.”

“Exactly. What is wrong with a few questions?”

“A few? Nothing. Everything? Can be a problem.”

Crowley laughs. “Can be fun though.”

“A lot of fun.”

They pause and look at each other. 

And burst out laughing, pausing the wheelbarrow to gather their breaths.

(The plant doesn’t mind. They’re by the lake, the Sun is shining, birds are singing in the branches, the Giant Squid is playing with the students brave enough to try and swim.

All is good on the Hogwarts grounds, for now, and the Plant is determined to take advantage of it.)

They stop laughing, breathless and rosy-cheeked.

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, ha--yes, my dear?”

“I wouldn’t have you any other way either.”

Crowley’s voice is soft when he says those words, and that’s enough for Aziraphale to stop laughing and consider him.

“You--you wouldn’t?”

“No. To me, you’re--,” Crowley gulps and seems to strengthen himself. “You’re perfect, just the way you are.”

“Not--not stronger, or slimmer, or--”

“No! Don’t ever dare to change, Aziraphale.” Crowley takes the step separating them. “Everything about you, from your cunning to your sense of style to your taste for sweets, everything is just … perfect.”

Aziraphale is at loss for words, and his heart is obviously trying to escape to dive into the lake.

“Angel?”

“Crow-Crowley, I--that is to say, I--”

“Yes?”

“Ditto.”

“Ditto?”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes and pulls Crowley in for a deep, rough kiss. “Don’t make big declarations and then expect me to manage words, okay?”

Crowley is quiet, dizzy from the kiss.

All he can do is pull Aziraphale back in.

(The plant really doesn’t mind being forgotten. It has kind of voyeuristic tendencies, to the inconvenience of its brethren in the greenhouse. Humans are so much more interesting.)


End file.
